


The See You Later Alligator Affair

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Addams Affairs [2]
Category: Addams Family - Fandom, Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya need help breaking into a top level THRUSH stronghold in the Okefenoke Swamp.  Luckily for them. the Addams Family just happens to be vacationing there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The See You Later Alligator Affair

Napoleon Solo made a face, carefully shifting his weight to his front foot.  He could hear his Russian partner grumbling behind him.

 

 "This is like walking on Jell-O," Illya Kuryakin muttered as he eased forward, balancing himself.  "I think I've forgotten what it's like to have dry..."  The ground gave way, and he plunged into swamp water up to his waist. "...socks."

 

 Napoleon smiled and offered him a hand up.  "Just be glad you haven't surprised any sleeping alligators yet."

 

"Scientific miracle or not, the Okefenokee Swamp is not my idea of a good time.  Why can't THRUSH limit themselves to slightly improved conditions for their labs?"

 

"Perhaps you could bring that up to Mr. Waverly next time around.  _Yes, sir, I'd like to have THRUSH sign an agreement to only build labs on the French Riviera...in the off‑season, of course_."  At Illya's snort, Napoleon smiled at the blond and resumed his precarious journey.  "What does it mean anyhow?"

 

"The Riviera?  Over‑priced hotel rooms, wanton sex, and bourgeois capitalism.  All the things Marx warned us about."

 

"Okefenokee, Illya."

 

"Oh.  It's the Hitichiti-Mikasuki word for trembling earth."  His last word was punctuated with a small yip as he fell through again. 

 

Napoleon rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "I don't understand this; you weigh twenty pounds less than me..."

 

"Forty."

 

"...Twenty- _five_ pounds less, and I haven't broken through yet."

 

"Maybe your Gucci loafers can walk on water."  Illya climbed back out and pointed to a small knoll.  "Let's try there.  It looks like dry ground."

 

"What difference will that make to you?  You're sopping."

 

"Nothing to me personally, but my gun would appreciate the chance to dry out before attacking a THRUSH installation."

 

"Good point."

 

                                                                                                ****

 

Creeping forward, Napoleon brushed aside a small plant and immediately flattened himself.  

 

Illya, bringing up the rear, didn't see any present danger but followed Napoleon's lead.  "What is it?" he hissed.

 

"We have reached our primary goal," Napoleon murmured back.  "Nasties at twelve o'clock, all ready for the plucking."

 

“Wonderful and how do you propose we take them on in broad daylight?  I, for one, left my Superman suit back in the phone booth."

 

 “Illya, you have got to stop reading those comics. They're ruining your brain."

 

 “All that much less for THRUSH to wash when they capture us as they most certainly will if we rush them now."

 

"My little optimist," Napoleon permitted himself a sigh. "I suggest we wait until nightfall.  There should be a full moon."

 

                                                                                                ****

 

 

Illya looked at the sky and sighed.  Inactivity was very nearly worse than death itself.  The full moon cast an eerie blue light through the Spanish moss that clung heavily to the trees.  "Somehow this is not very romantic and nothing like what it was built up to be."  He slapped a mosquito drilling into his neck.

 

"Illya, you’re a good friend and a wonderful partner, but when I get romantic with a full moon, I'm certainly not going to do it with you only an arm's length away."  Napoleon dropped his binoculars to glance over at his partner.

 

The Russian put on his best hurt expression.  "I'm crushed, Napoleon, truly crushed.  I always thought…" he trailed off and then smiled at the incredulous look on his partner's face.  "Just checking to see if you were paying attention."  He resumed his contemplation of the sky as clouds flitted across the face of the moon. 

 

The darkness crept in like an alligator swimming silently through the water.  Throughout the long wait, Napoleon and Illya took turns watching the installation ‑ not expecting anything, but then again, expecting everything.   Past experience with THRUSH had taught them well.

 

Napoleon was seated in the fork of a tree, using infrared binoculars to study their target, hoping to find a flaw in the defenses.

 

"Anything?"  Below, Illya kept a low profile, using ground brush for cover.

 

“Looks like the fence is electrified ‑ I can see a generator.  We'll either have to knock that out to get over the fence or tunnel underneath..."

 

“Not the best option in a swamp."

 

"Agreed.  Or go through the front gate.  Somehow, we've got to get in there and see what these guys are up to."

 

"Doesn't it ever make you stop to wonder?  I mean, what if they're simply minding their own business?"

 

"You, Illya?  A show of remorse?  You've been in this game too long for that, my friend."

 

"I know.  When do you think we should attack?"

 

There was silence from the tree.  Illya could still see his partner and decided that Napoleon hadn't heard him.  "Napoleon, when do we attack?"

 

"Wednesday."

 

"This is Thursday.  I'm not sitting around in this swamp for a week."

 

"No, not Wednesday.  I mean, Wednesday."

 

"Cryptic, Napoleon.  What are you talking about?"

 

"Wednesday Addams."

 

It took a moment for the name to sink in, and then Illya placed it.  A tiny wisp of a girl with long black braids and a headless doll called Marie Antoinette.

 

"What is she doing here?"

 

"I don't know...there's the boy...um...um..."

 

"Pugsley."

 

"That's it.  Help me down."

 

*********

 

The boy looked up at the sound of their approach.  He didn't seem at all surprised to see them as if sloshing through a swamp at midnight was as commonplace as a Sunday stroll through the park.  "Oh, hello, Mr. Solo!"  His chubby face beamed into an endless smile.  "What are you doing here?"

 

“We were about to ask you the same thing."

 

Illya stepped from behind his partner, anxious to hear the children's logical excuse. 

 

Wednesday Addams, her narrow features never approaching any emotion at all, looked him straight in the eye.  “Grandmamma likes it here.  It's so nice and gloomy."

 

"Especially now," chimed in Pugsley.  "The mosquitoes and chiggers are just starting to swarm."

 

"Of course; that certainly is a priority on my vacation."  Illya exchanged a sidelong look with Napoleon.

 

“What are you guys up to?"  Pugsley obviously was unthreatened by any danger or at least unaware that any existed.

 

Napoleon considered a variety of responses before shrugging his shoulders and pointing.  "Trying to get in there."

 

"Oh, that's easy.  Uncle Fester has done it hundreds of times."

 

"He has, has he?"  Illya was dubious, his pride a bit dented.  "Would you care to show us how?"

 

"We can't.  Mother says it's not nice to play with their things without being asked."

 

"Then how does Uncle Fester...?"

 

"That's different," Wednesday said in a tone that defied reprimand or explanation.  “He’s an adult.”

 

"Well, perhaps Uncle Fester would be good enough to tell us himself."  Napoleon smiled down at the pair, ignoring his anxiously fidgeting partner.

 

"Napoleon, do you think that wise?  Mr. Waverly..."

 

"...Will be delighted to hear that we enlisted Uncle Fester's help."  He lowered his voice.  "Hell, Illya, it can't hurt.  I don't have a way in.  Maybe Fester does."

 

They followed the diminutive pair through low brush and moon-bleached quagmires, doing their best to keep their feet dry.  After roughly a mile, they came to a relatively flat area.

 

Napoleon squinted in the blue white glow of the moonlight.  There was something that looked like a belfry, but what would...?  As they moved closer, Napoleon recognized it to be a long black car with some sort of camper attached.  A large Arabian style tent was pitched to one side with a bubbling caldron nearby.  Lurch, the looming butler, wore a large apron that declared _'I live to barbeque'_ over his tuxedo and stirred whatever was brewing within the kettle.

 

Morticia Addams sat in her high-back, rattan chair, a parasol shielding her chalky white skin from the harsh moonlight.

 

Gomez Addams, head protectively covered by a pith helmet, was wearing a 30's style bathing suit ‑ red with large white stripes.  He had a telescope trained on something, and was alternately staring into it and puffing on a thin panatela.

 

Fester, the gentleman in question, was stretched out on a lounge, with a reflector turned up to the sky.  The result was making his pasty skin even paler.

 

"Mother, Father, look who we found in the swamp!"

 

"Not another swamp-crazed hermit, I hope."  Morticia Addams' voice had a weary edge to it.  "You don't feed the ones you have now."

 

“No, Mother, we found Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin...from UNCLE."

 

Fester popped up with a cherubic look of joy festooning his face.  "Has Mr. Waverly changed his mind?  Am I in?"

 

This was a matter of personal pain to Napoleon.  After their last encounter, Gomez Addams had donated a substantial sum to UNCLE.  This was wonderful, but it had been closely followed by Uncle Fester.  He showed up on Del Floria's stoop, full of aspirations of becoming an international spy.  Illya, for his part, did his best to stress the unglamorous parts of their job, from the lying in mud five inches deep all night, to endless hours of surveillance. Fester had remained unswayed.  Finally, they were able to catch him on the age requirement since they determined he was closer to a hundred than the required twenty-one-to-forty year range.

 

Still, Napoleon Solo was a man who could think on his feet even if they were soaking wet.  "Funny you should mention that, Uncle Fester," Napoleon smiled warmly ‑ the expression he used for convincing people of his pure and honest nature.  While Illya merely affected a look of innocence with his blue eyes and youthful features, Napoleon had to use a more overt approach. "That's why we're here."

 

"It is?" Illya asked softly, not sure where Napoleon was leading.

 

"We've been asked to call you out on reserve duty, Uncle Fester."  Well, it was true that Waverly had told them to use every resource to discover the secret of the THRUSH base.  Napoleon nodded to Illya who merely sighed and gave in to the situation.

 

“Isn't that marvelous, Gomez!"  Morticia Addams clapped her hands to her heart in genuine emotion.  "Our Uncle Fester, _un espion_ _extraordinaire_. A Mata Hari of Addamses everywhere."

 

 "Tish, that's French."  Gomez flung aside the panatela and rushed to her side.  "More, Tish, ‑ _c'est magnifique, merci beaucoup,_ Eiffel Tower..."  He kissed his way up her arm while Napoleon and Illya redirected their attention to the nearby flora.

 

"Gomez.”  His wife voice was patient but firm.  “UNCLE now, Eiffel later."

 

Gomez took several deep breaths and nodded.  "Of course, how could I think of myself at a time like this? All of Addamsdom is poised on the brink of infamy."  He pulled a fresh panatela from his pocket and began to puff away.

 

Fester tromped up to the UNCLE agents.  "So, what can Reserve Agent Fester help you with?"

 

"Our advance scouts have indicated that there is a THRUSH outpost here.  However, we still don't know what they're up to.  We have to get in there, and that's where you come in... Reserve Agent Fester.  Pugsley and Wednesday tell us you've managed to infiltrate the base."

 

"Oh, that's easy."  Fester gave a deprecating gesture with his pudgy hands.  "I do that all the time.  I pick mushrooms for Grandmamma just inside the fence."

 

"Those barbarians," Morticia spoke with passion. "Fencing off one of the most magnificent, most inspired fungal growths in the Southern states."

 

As if aware that she was the topic of discussion, Grandmamma Addams came storming into camp, her grey hair awry, her features darkened and set.  "Those...those...those," she sputtered as she walked.

 

"Those‑those?" Gomez questioned.

 

"Dear, whatever is the matter?"  Morticia came up and placed a comforting hand about her shoulders.

 

"First they fence off my mushrooms, now they toss me out!"  She rubbed her back.  "Literally."

 

"What!" Gomez shouted infuriated.  "No Addams has ever been tossed out of anywhere."

 

"Gomez..."

 

"Well, there was Barcelona, but that was on shore leave."

 

"And?"

 

"Asia... and most of Europe, but never America!"  He paused, his anger dissipated.  "Except for the New York Stock Exchange."

 

Illya was shaking his head.  "Are you sure we can't just tunnel in?"

 

"Nonsense, Illya.  With Fester's help, this should be child's play."

 

"Let's just hope we aren't sent to bed without supper."

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya Kuryakin stared out from behind the bars, arms resting on a cross piece.  "Bed without supper."

 

“Don’t think of it as failure, Illya, but rather a realignment of priorities.”

 

“That helps tremendously, thank you.  Might I remind you that I’m always the one who seems to fare poorly in these situations?”

 

"Gosh, fellas, I'm sorry." Fester spoke up from his corner.  "I didn't know they had an alarm system."

 

“That's all right, Fester," Napoleon said, with a rueful smile.  "We should have expected trouble.  It was too simple the other way."

 

"We did get in," Fester reminded him.

 

"Bars do not inside make."  Illya straightened.  "Did they leave you with anything?"

 

"A headache and a sore stomach."  Napoleon patted the area tenderly.  "You?"

 

"Like Mother Hubbard, my cupboards are bare.  They even took my false tooth."  His tongue explored the empty spot in his lower jaw.  “I supposed I should be happy they left the real ones alone.”

 

"They didn't search me," Fester offered. 

 

Both men looked in his direction.  "Is this good news?"

 

"A spy is always prepared!  Or is that a Boy Scout?" Fester puzzled for a moment over this.  "Oh well, it doesn't matter."  He glanced around furtively and then lifted the hem of his ulster.  He pulled out a file.

 

“Interesting, but it will take a long, long time to get through these bars." Illya commented, returning his attention to the corridor.

 

Fester was hurt, and he blinked several times. 

 

Napoleon rose painfully and went to his side.  "It was a nice try, Fester."

 

"He's mad at me, isn't he?"

 

"Illya?  Of course not.  He just gets out of sorts when he's not the reason for our capture.  He practically holds a gold medal for it."

 

Illya glared at the pair and brushed a handful of blond hair off his forehead before resuming his vigil.

 

"I guess none of this other stuff would help then." Fester opened the overcoat he had donned just for the occasion. 

 

Napoleon stared at the assortment of weapons and tools that hung from the inside.  "Just like in the comics," he finally muttered. 

 

There was something in his tone that caught Illya's attention, and he looked and then gaped at what he saw.  "Only in America," he ventured eventually.  "Why didn't they search you?"

 

"Don't know.  Guess they didn't think I looked dangerous."

 

"Looks are deceiving."  Napoleon slapped his hands together, faith restored in the world.  "What looks good to you, Mr. K.?"

 

"I've always been fond of lock picks myself."  He reached for the appropriate tool.

 

                                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon Solo pressed himself back against the wall while a THRUSH guard passed mere inches away.  The brunet studied the guard’s face and shook his head.   Just a few rooms ago, the same man was wearing a lab coat and staring at a non‑functioning panel.  When the guard had passed, he gestured over his shoulder and moved out.  Illya gave Fester a gentle shove forward and brought up the rear, keeping a wary eye open for obstructions.

 

A door caught Napoleon's attention.  Perhaps this one would be different.  Napoleon was starting to get a peculiar feeling in his stomach, a sensation that this outpost wasn't what it pretended to be.  After a quick scan to check for obvious alarms, he opened the door gently and peered inside. Everything looked all right, but that was no gilt-edged guarantee.

 

Napoleon studied the immediate surroundings.  A table top laden with papers seemed as good a place as any to start.  He set down the Luger he'd gotten from Fester and turned to his companions, a frown creasing his features.  "Illya, could I see you a moment?"

 

The Russian was at his side instantly, ready for instructions.

 

"Take a look at this."

 

"What should I do?" Fester queried, a smile on his face.

 

"Nothing, Fester, just watch that door and keep it shut."

 

"Right."

 

Kuryakin was muttering and shaking his head in turns.  "Napoleon, what in the name of God is a Left‑Handed Bandy Snatcher?"

 

"I was hoping you could tell me.  Code?"

 

"Not that I recognize, nor is it a pseudonym in any language I know."  He took out the mini camera Fester had so thoughtfully included with his arsenal.  "We'll let the people at home worry about it.  We're just here to observe, right?"

 

"Of course, right.  And I think I've observed enough to conclude that this place is a ruse."

 

"A ruse?  We got thrown in a cell for a ruse?"

 

"Would we have bought it otherwise?  Think about it, Illya.  This has been the only room with anything in it. We've only seen four people, several times in all, and each time, they were wearing a different uniform.  I don't like the opinion I'm forming."

 

"That we're being played for idiots?"

 

"Sadly, yes.  I don't know about you, but I'm ready to split this dump.  We'll let Mr. Waverly figure this one out."  He picked up the papers and folded them into a neat packet which he stuffed into a jacket pocket.  "Let's go find our guns.  These," he observed, indicating the Lugers they carried, "make me nervous."

 

                                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon Solo lifted a glass to the bald, grinning man across the table.  "To Uncle Fester, the best reserve field agent in the organization."

 

"Not to mention the only," Illya muttered into his own glass of wine.  For dandelion wine, it wasn't too bad, but nothing to compare to his own grandmother's.  "Grandmamma, that was a marvelous dinner, especially the mushrooms."

 

"It was good of you and Mr. Solo to stop and pick them on the way out." Grandmamma blushed from the compliment. "But Mr. Solo doesn't seem to have much appetite."

 

"He's still on the case," Illya explained.  "He never eats much on assignment.  Just wait until we get back to New York though.  I wager he'll clean out the Four Seasons."

 

Napoleon smiled weakly at his partner and silently thanked him for the excuse.  Truth be known, he was starving, but he just couldn't bring himself to eat anything that floated in gray gravy and occasionally tried to crawl off the plate.

 

"At least, he'll have plenty of room for dessert," Grandmamma said as she whisked his plate away.

 

"What delicacy are you gracing us with now, Mama?" Gomez leaned back, enjoying his panatela while Lurch cleared the dishes.

 

"Seaweed mousse and whipped snail cream."

 

"My favorite," Fester said, smacking his lips.

 

“Made in honor of your _grandiose triomphe,_ our dear Uncle Fester.”  Morticia stroked his cheek fondly and smiled.

 

“Tish!” Gomez leapt across the table and grabbed her hand.  “That’s French.”

 

“Napoleon,” Morticia warned as her husband nibbled his way up her arm.  “And Illya…”

 

“Illya’s not French.”

 

“Thank God for that,” Napoleon murmured while Illya scowled.

 

Grandmamma set a bowl of greenish gel before him.  Napoleon kept a smile glued on his lips.  "I don't know if we'll have time for this as delicious as it sounds.  We are on a schedule."

 

"In the swamp?  Now?  C'mon, Napoleon!"  Napoleon could tell Illya favored even the mousse over the thought of wading back through the swamp under the cover of night.

 

"Why don't you just go back with us?"  Morticia suggested.  "We plan to leave in the morning, providing it's nice and cloudy.  We don't like to travel in harsh weather...all that sunshine, it's bad for one's complexion."

 

"I don't know," Napoleon began.

 

"I insist."  Gomez was a man used to getting his way. "We'll just set two extra places for breakfast."

 

Napoleon looked down at the pudding dish and over at Illya, beseeching his partner to do something, _anything_.  But Illya just grinned back, dipped in his spoon, and began to eat.

 

 


End file.
